


inevitability

by daemon



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Canon, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-09-06 03:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16823788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemon/pseuds/daemon
Summary: Heero Yuy is not a child anymore. Then again, for someone like him, he has not been a child in a very long time.





	1. inevitability | "…because they’re running out of time."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [czar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/czar/gifts).



Heero Yuy is not a child anymore. Then again, for someone like him, he has not been a child in a very long time.

In three years, he felt as if he'd aged a lifetime; no longer willful or belligerent, nor did his levels of stubbornness match that of Relena's anymore— she had surpassed in that aspect, due to her time in too many political arenas. Despite his youthful countenance, his agile body and lightning strike mind, Heero was not a child. He was not expendable, malleable or impressionable; he was _formidable_. He was a force all on his own.

It isn't until he's a bit older, had put his violent teens behind him and grown into a solemn young man that he realized the hand guiding his path. The sun that lit his way and whose hand he'd unknowingly taken, the footsteps he followed until he could walk parallel with them. He was taught better than this, mentored and groomed to be the perfect soldier. He should have recognized the old patterns, the challenging looks, the amusement and specks of pride gleaming beneath those silvery depths; he should have _known_ this man was behind everything.

He waits a few more years before he says anything. He continues to follow the breadcrumbs because they have yet to lead him astray, connects the dots to every new promotion, position, and subsequent power soon regained over his own destiny. Like echoes of their Operation Meteor— _theirs_ , not those who once held their strings— he was given sovereignty over himself again. The right to _choose_ his fate was handed back to him, and yet he couldn't find it in him to pull the trigger of fury on the man whose hand had presented it. True, he was angry, insulted even, to a point; his pride was a touch wounded, but he did not retaliate.

He couldn't. It was refreshing to be faced with someone who could match him blow by blow and come out as bruised as he was. It's where he found himself now, flattened on the dark blue mats beneath the man who'd not only given him the keys to the future, but dared stand just beyond the gates to guide him further. 

Pale blue eyes blazed bright with the adrenaline of their spar, platinum hair fanned out around him like a curtain after falling free of its tie, smooth skin flushed with exertion and damp with sweat, and those gods-forsaken lips tugged at the corners with mirth. There was no triumph in that gaze, merely appreciation, and so much of something _else_ that Heero could bring himself to name. Heero found himself wide-eyed and breathless, his stomach twisting in knots and his heart doing wild ricochets between his throat, his ribs, his gut; _fuck_ he hated this man in that moment for making him _feel_ like this—

_"Sir, you have one hour before the luncheon."_

The sound of Noin's husky voice shattered the heady around them—Heero didn't _jump_ , no he fucking did _not_ — and Milliardo sat up on his knees, still straddling Heero's legs, still emanating so much _heat_ —

"Of course. I'll be out shortly." He replied pleasantly, though his eyes were still boring deep, soul-searing holes into Heero's own cobalt eyes.

Heero can't find the words, can't even taste him on his tongue as Milliardo begins to stand. Instead, his body does the talking for him— his hand darts out and clutches the soaked collar of the tanktop the elder is wearing—

Milliardo's eyes narrow a fraction, his lips parting for whatever remark his brilliant, beautiful, terrifying mind would supply them with and—

Heero pushes up on his elbow as he drags the other back in and there is no coordination in either action whatsoever because he's so intently focused on bringing that bastard back into his immediate proximity he doesn't quite register that the former Prince is _falling towards him_ —

And then Milliardo's are caging him in as he presses Heero into the mat, the weight of him oddly reassuring, the contours of his body slotting in so perfectly to Heero's— and it's a wonder he can even _breathe_ through all of this, so enraptured he is by the sudden fire in the other man's eyes—

There's a smirk curling his lips just before Heero claimed them. Like he knew this would happen; like he'd hope that it would and he was reaping the benefits; like it was the inevitable outcome to the longest game they'd ever played—

This time, Milliardo Peacecraft was playing for _keeps_ and Heero tasted it in every sweep of a warm tongue toying with his, of lips sliding against his own and tasting like the salt of their sweat, and downright _need_ fueling every clash of teeth when the kiss took a decidedly hungry turn. Between one burning moment and the next, Heero was utterly and completely undone. He'd met his match, his equal, his reflection and never had he wanted to run deeper into the black hole that was Milliardo Peacecraft than he did in those precious seconds.

And then the kiss was broken, the weight disappeared, the perfect symmetry dislodged and fractured; and suddenly he felt so fucking _cold_ from skin to bone, he _hated_ it.

As he sat up and tried to catch his breath, tried to find the other man through the overwhelming haze of lust and want, he found the other grabbing their water bottles from the nearby bench, and fumbled when one was tossed at him. Milliardo grinned, slow and purposeful, and so fucking _knowing_ that Heero wanted to claw it off his face.

"See you soon, Heero."

Heero glared at him until he left the sparring room. He was _fucked_ and he knew it.

.


	2. change | "i'll think about it."

" _What?_ "

Heero had caught him staring, and embarrassing as it was, Zechs didn't bother hiding the slight smile pulling at his lips as he reached out and combed his fingers through brunette hair, enjoying the thickness of it, the layers of it growing out and touching his shoulders at length.

"You let it grow out."

Heero frowned at him, but that didn't stop his hand from making another pass through his hair, "Yes, and?"

"I like it." Zechs set his bag down and walked around Heero to comb back his hair from his nape and using a hairband from his wrist to pull it into a less-messy ponytail. "Keep it like this for a while."

He felt the younger man's shoulders tense for a brief moment, and he could practically _feel_ the inner war between shooting out a smart-ass remark or ignoring him completely. He waited, hand resting carefully on the back of Heero's neck and absently rubbing the pad of his thumb up and down the exposed notches of his partner's spine.

"I'll think about it."

Well, it was as big of a concession as he was going to get. Good enough.

.


End file.
